


Don't Tow Me Away

by carriecmoney



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco loses his virginity in a Chevy, and Jean's pants are so tight you can see his religion. Inspired by "It's Too Late Now" by Jo Dee Messina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Tow Me Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quartetship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/gifts).



> {A/N: So this idea's been kickin' around for a while, and wouldn't you know it, I started it just in time for qt's birthday! This goes out to her and how she did a birthday fic for me after knowing me for under 24 hours ;)  
> [The inspiration song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCdWVAwRGVs) Also heavily inspired/upheld by [Shit Southern Women Say](https://www.youtube.com/user/SouthernWomenChannel), which'll make me laugh until my dying day.
> 
> [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

**Don’t Tow Me Away**

“Mom. How can you be out of hairspray?”

Jean’s mom shrugged helplessly, hands caught in the curlers in Mrs. McDaniel’s blue hair. “It happens! I’ve only got three more appointments, so I might hold out until closin’, but my supply shipment won’t come in until day after next. Be a dear and run down to Walmart for me and pick up some?”

Jean knocked his head back against the dryer chair he was sitting in – jumped when the shitty wiring blared the heat at him for a second. “Sure, sure. Any particular brand you want?”

“Oh, whatever’s cheapest.” He spun his keyring around his finger, dropped a ‘yes ma’am’ at her and a nod to Mrs. McDaniel, and left his mother’s hair salon for the sweltering Blue Ridge heat. God, it wasn’t even June, what fresh hell _was_ the South?

He slid into his yellow Mustang (the down payment had been his graduation gift; the rest was up to him) and turned it on, sticking his tongue out at downtown Blairsville as the AC blew hot on his face. ‘Downtown’ was relative, as the town proper wasn’t even a thousand people, and the people were about as multicolored as a potato salad. He’d never realized growing up in his mom’s salon how shitty this place really was, but after spending the last four years in Atlanta getting his architecture degree (with a math minor) from Tech, yeah. He got it. He’d been able to avoid it hardcore since he became aware, but he was caught halfway between out and in now, with two whole months before his graduate program began and his internship at an architecture firm in town kicked in. He was stuck here, trying to smile at every redneck with a George HW Bush bumper sticker and praying that his degree didn’t melt out through his mouth before he had to use it again. He loved his mom, and he loved her salon, but they almost weren’t worth this anymore.

Walmart was crowded for a Friday afternoon. He had to park halfway up the lot from the doors, and he was totally gonna regret wearing his skinny jeans instead of gym shorts no matter how good they made his ass look.

A truck pulled into the spot in front of him. He glanced up – double-took. Well, maybe he wouldn’t regret them after all, no matter how much they made him sweat.

The dude getting out of the truck was tall, filled-out, and most importantly, _not white._ He was dressed like every other farmhand on the street, but his freckles stood out a little less and the arch of his nose bumped out, and after over three weeks with nothing but Duke’s to look at, that was enough to set Jean’s heart hammering.

The stranger walked around his truck towards the doors – damn, Jean hadn’t even turned off the engine yet. He scrambled to get out of the car without hurting anything (mainly the paint job) and followed the stranger in, not close enough to be creepy. Jean thought he knew everyone in this miserable county, but obviously he had overlooked a corner or two. A hot corner.

Jean walked right past the lines of shopping carts in the airlock. Yeah, he was totally gonna push a buggy of hairspray as he tailed him around the Walmart, that sounded _exactly_ like a thing to get a hot dude to talk to him. He’d come back for his mom’s stuff later, once he struck out or lost his chance with this guy in some way or another.

The stranger meandered his way to the deli counter on the side of the store. Jean hung a basket over his arm and pretended to look at the bread, head turned to eavesdrop. The stranger had a nice rumble and not a lot of accent to his voice as he ordered a turkey and Swiss sandwich, hands in his back pockets and why couldn’t Jean have arms like that? Ugh.

The stranger looked around idly as he waited on his sandwich. Jean jumped and slipped around the corner to the peanut butter and oil aisle, glaring at the mom with her toddler giving him a weird look down the aisle. She could go to hell – oh, what, they were about out of peanut oil at the house…

Jean got distracted by frying oils and almost forgot about the stranger, not looking up as he left the aisle and ran smack into him.

“Shit!” Jean caught his arm to keep the stranger from toppling (more like wobbling, the dude was _solid_ ) as he stumbled and dropped his paper-wrapped sandwich on the gross Walmart floor. “Dude, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The stranger flicked his hair out of his eyes and smiled at him, not quite reaching his eyes. “I’ll get another one, I guess.”

“What? No way, man. I owe you one, let me get you something other than a Walmart sub.” Jean set the peanut oil back on the shelf and dumped the basket under the cookie display. The stranger’s eyebrows drew together as he followed Jean’s actions, but he didn’t say anything as he picked up his now-inedible sandwich and dumped it in the basket as they walked past. Excellent. Another asshole.

Jean babbled about this one time he found a mold culture in his sourdough from that deli, face hot in the AC before they even got to the sun. God, he was dumb. Just because a guy was hot and not white didn’t mean he had time for this. They crossed the parking lot together, heat clinging like Jean’s skinny jeans, as the stranger watched him through narrowed eyes and let him chatter.

“I’m Jean, by the way. Sorry about all this.”

The stranger smiled, laughed, and Jean almost took a step back, holy _shit_. “It’s fine, I really don’t mind. I didn’t have anywhere else to be today, anyway.” Fan- _fucking_ -tastic. “I’m Marco.”

“Marco, all right.” They got to their cars; Jean leant on the hood of his, sneaker on the tire. “Wanna get in? I can take us there.”

Marco gave his Mustang one look and turned to his truck. “I’ve spent my whole life outside of a Ford and I don’t plan on changin’ that today.”

Jean’s mouth dropped open. “Ex- _cuse_ me?”

Marco grinned, wicked and different than his earlier catching laugh. “Get in, city boy.” Jean squawked.

“I ain’t a city boy!”

“Sure you ain’t, and country kids normally have yellow cars. You gonna fight me or you gonna get in?”

“Smartass.” Marco winked, and Jean’s heart flipped. Jean gave his car one last pat before pushing off and coming around to the passenger side of the truck. By all common sense, this was a bad idea, but Marco didn’t seem like the type to axe him on the side of the road, and he was _so bored_. He climbed in the cab. “All right, so there’s a pizza place, a diner, a Waffle House and a KFC. Your pick.”

Marco hummed as he started the truck – a work truck, with fraying upholstery and dirt ground into the carpets. God, Jean _was_ a city boy, if basic manual labor signs were this hot. “Well, I haven’t had an All-Star Special in a while.”

Jean wrinkled his nose at him. “You’re gonna eat me out of house and home, aren’t you.” Marco winked.

The Walmart was a couple miles out of town, and the Waffle House was on the other side of it. So it was only three miles to Waffle House. Jean avoided looking at his mother’s salon and turned to Marco instead.

“You ain’t from around these parts, are ya?”

Marco cast him a sidelong glance. “You tryin’ to convince me you ain’t a city boy?”

Jean puffed up. “I _grew up_ in this God-forsaken town, mister, I just got out when I could!”

Marco laughed and shrugged. “Alright, alright. To answer your question, no, I work down at one of the Lumpkin county vineyards, I just came up here to drop off a delivery at the airport. Even when I’ve been in these mountains for a few years, it’s, ah…” He glanced out the window at the diner they were skipping. “A cultural experience.”

“If you mean ‘white as a cotton field’, then yeah, it’s an experience.” Marco chuckled, head dipping down. Jean smiled. “I’ve been in Atlanta for a few years now, so I feel that pain.”

“Atlanta, huh?” Marco pulled into the Waffle House parking lot and jerked the truck to a stop, yanking the key out and hopping out of the cab. Jean copied him, trailing his fingers through the mud crusting the dusty red aluminum. “Whatcha doin’ there?”

“Gainin’ knowledge. Got out of Tech a few weeks ago, and now I’m back here until I go back again in August.” Marco raised his eyebrows as he held the outside door open for Jean, glancing down at Jean’s freshman class shirt – down. Jean’s eyes narrowed.

“It seems we were destined to disagree.” Marco twirled his keyring with the red and black G hanging off it. Jean frowned and wrinkled his nose as he returned the door-opening favor on the inside door.

“I changed my mind. I can’t speak to you anymore.” Marco laughed; Jean stuck his tongue out at him. “You think I’m joking.”

“Nah, I know better’n that.” He winked as they settled in the back corner booth.

Four in the afternoon was never peak time for a Waffle House, so they were the only customers in the place. The waitress and the cook were chatting behind the counter, but the waitress took one look at them and hopped over. “Hey, Jean. New friend?”

Marco laughed, chin to his chest, and looked up at Jean through his bangs. “Okay, I believe you about not being a city boy now.”

“Aw, was he gettin’ fussy about that again?” The waitress nudged her hip against Jean’s shoulder; he scowled up at her.

“Sash, quit it.”

She laughed and mussed his hair. “Yep, sure was. You watch‘m, he runs scared at mud these days.” Jean sputtered; Marco raised his eyebrows. Sasha leant heavy on Jean’s side and pulled out her pad, elbow resting on his head. He scowled harder, but let her do it – the more you fought Sasha, the closer she clung. Like an octopus. “What can I get y’all?” she asked Marco, already writing down Jean’s chocolate chip waffles and coffee.

She took Marco’s order and left them with a light slap to the back of Jean’s head (and a wink and thumbs up behind Marco’s back) before she called out her pull one bacon’s to Connie on the line. Jean buried his face in his hands and groaned. Marco chuckled and nudged him with his foot under the table.

“Sorry ‘bout her.” Jean gestured vaguely with one hand, blush fading. “She’s a bit… tactile. If I knew it was her shift I’d never’ve sent us here.”

“I don’t mind.” Sasha came back with two mugs and poured out their coffee, dumping a handful of creamers on the table. Marco thanked her with a smile; Sasha’s lips parted and she ducked away with a giggle. Good to know it wasn’t just Jean. Marco leant forward and pinned Jean to the plastic seat with his almond eyes. “So. Tech, huh?”

Like the god he obviously was, Marco let Jean ramble about his school through waffles, only giving him a weird look when ‘architorture’ slipped out instead of ‘architecture’. Jean remembered his manners right around when he stole a piece of Marco’s bacon and asked about the vineyard. Marco’d been there for almost five years now; he’d immigrated from the coffee plantations of Guatemala on the recommendation of his uncle and never looked back.

“So, I can get the need to get out of your hometown,” he said, picking at his hashbrowns. “Mine was just a bit different than this.” Jean smiled as his phone vibrated across the table. His eyebrows furrowed as he picked it up – _shit_.

“Hey, Mom.” He shrugged at Marco.

“ _Where are you? I thought you were just going to Walmart!_ ”

“Yeah, uh. I ran into someone.” Marco snorted into his plate. “No big deal. I’m at Waffle House now.”

“ _Oh? Do I know this someone?_ ”

Jean rubbed his temple. “No, you don’t-”

“ _Ooh!_ _Boy or girl?_ ”

The heel of his hand moved to cover his eye, fingers in his hair. “Guy. Look, Mom, I’ll get your stuff later-” She laughed.

“ _Oh, honey! You take your time, it’s nice to hear you gettin’ out with kids your own age! You take all the time you need._ ”

Jean groaned. “ _Mom_ , seriously, stop.” She just laughed more.

“ _All right, all right. I’m fixin’ to close up here and head out. Should I make enough dinner for y’all?”_

“Nah, I’ll be good. Thanks, Mom.”

“ _You take care, sweetheart. Bye now, love you!”_

“Mmhmm, ‘ove ya, too.” Jean hung up and found Marco grinning at him. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say nothin’.” Marco dug his fork in his hashbrowns. “So, you gotta be back soon?”

“You kiddin’? Mom’s probably goin’ crazy, havin’ the house to herself again. I can stay out as long as I want, s’long as she doesn’t think I’m dead or arrested.” Jean scraped at the dried chocolate on his plate with a fingernail. “Why, you gotta go back to Lumpkin?”

Marco shrugged. “This was my last thing to do today… but I should probably go, anyway. Early morning and all that.”

“Oh. Well, I shouldn’t hold you up, then. I’ll just – go pay, real fast.” Marco nodded, not looking up. Jean frowned and took the ticket Sasha’d left over to the register.

“Yo, Sash,” Jean muttered, leaning over the counter to talk where Marco and the five other people that had come in while they were talking couldn’t hear as she rang it up. “I totally read this guy right, right? He’s into me, right?”

Sasha raised her eyebrows at him. “For a self-sure jackass, you sure have a lotta doubt.” Her eyes flicked over to Marco, back at Jean. “Where’d you even _find_ this guy, anyway? Coulda sworn Connie here was the only spot of color in the whole county.” Connie snorted from where he was cleaning dishes and eavesdropping. Jean’s face heated up.

“S’not important,” he mumbled. Both of them honed in on his tone.

“Oh, now I _gotta_ know,” Connie said with a lopsided grin.

Jean’s ears flamed up, and he looked down at the counter. “Walmart.” Sasha’s shoulder’s shook; Connie dragged a soapy hand across his face. “Shaddup!”

“Oh, Jean, you’re precious.” She took his card when he thrust it in her face and swiped it. “I’d say he was just bein’ friendly, but you couldn’t make a friend that fast if you _tried_. I’d go for it.” The machine churned out his receipt, and she dug around for a pen for him to sign with.

“And if he beats you up, call me, we’re off in an hour.” Connie flicked the brim of his visor. Jean made a face at him and flounced away, doubling back to take his card from a giggling Sasha and slide it back into his wallet.

Marco was faced away from the counter, so Jean had to walk all the way over and touch his shoulder to get his attention. Marco jumped too much and laughed on a string when he saw it was Jean – maybe he read the signs right after all. Jean smiled. “You ready?”

“Yeah! Yeah, sure.” His smile twitched up and he stood too fast, a little too close – _mmm_ , he was taller than Jean, _nice_. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Jean smiled before stepping away and leading him out. When Marco turned his back to go out the door, Sasha and Connie danced against each other behind the counter, making duck faces at Jean. He growled and stormed out of the Waffle House and over to Marco’s truck, almost wrenching the door open before Marco could even get over. Marco climbed in with his nervous face on. Jean’s restraint cracked with the slam of Marco’s door.

“Hey. If you’re gonna hit on me, go ahead and do it so we can get this show on the road.” Marco’s face froze, and he turned _red_ , hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he stared at Jean with round eyes.

“Uh – uh, no, uh, that’s really, uh – not? I’m not?” Marco groaned and faceplanted into the steering wheel, making the horn spurt. Jean snorted and patted him on the back; Marco jerked away.

“It’s all right, man, I ain’t gonna report you to the straight police.” Marco turned his head and looked at him with big brown eyes. Jean gulped. “You okay?”

“Gimme a minute.” He closed his eyes and faced down again. When Jean put his hand on his back again, he didn’t flinch.

Jean gave him about thirty seconds. “This can’t be the first time someone’s called you out, can it?”

Marco shook his head, a roll of his forehead on the grip of the steering wheel. He smiled, no teeth, eyes still closed. “It’s the first time someone’s been so nice about it, though.”

“Shit, man.” He sat back and raised his eyebrows at Marco, looking him up and down. “ _Really?_ ‘Cause you’re some hot shit.”

Marco laughed, shoulders shaking. “Yeah, the drunk girls who come to the vineyard have no problem telling me that.” Jean laughed, head thrown back.

“Not into that much, huh?” Marco laughed and sat up straight.

“No, not really.” Jean _definitely_ didn’t imagine the lingering look on his throat before he tilted his chin back down. They smiled at each other, pulse high in Jean’s temples.

“C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” Marco’s smile grew a few teeth wider, and he cranked the truck on.

They bought a cheap bottle of whiskey and a liter of Coke at the only liquor store in town, debating Wild Turkey and Jack Daniels and ending up with Jim Beam. The cashier (also the owner) threw in some plastic sample cups for them when Jean begged him, laughing about kids these days and asking them where they were headed.

“Up to the lake,” Jean jumped in with before Marco could stutter. “It’s nice out there.”

“Too right.” He handed over the bag with a smile. “Y’all take care now.”

“Yeah, you too!” Jean dragged Marco out by the elbow. When they were out of the store and back in Marco’s truck, Marco shot him a look.

“Are we really going to the lake?”

“If you want.” Jean shrugged. “There’s a dirt track no one goes down on the other side of the lake from the state park, so we’ll be safe there. And it’s pretty.”

Marco raised an eyebrow and put his arm on the seatback as he reversed out of the parking spot, fingers brushing Jean’s shoulder. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Jean made a face at him, ears burning. “No, jackass, I ain’t never taken a girl _or_ a boy out there. It’s just a spot I found running, back in high school when I cared.”

Marco smiled, eyelids lowered. “But you’ve thought about it.” Jean shrugged and looked away. “Left or right?”

Jean directed him through the town and down a degrading set of roads until they were close to offroading it through the woods around the lake, the guttered dirt road weaving around a few trees in from the shore. It’d been a lot smoother back in high school.

They found a spot where the trees thinned out and they could see out over the water, and Marco pulled a magic parking trick out of his sleeve and backed them up into it. It helped that his Chevy was undentable.

They sat on the tailgate and split the Coke and whiskey, talking about backroads and flat tires and how to curate a grapevine. Finding out his attractive farmhand wasn’t just good with his hands, but smart about it, was a bonus Jean never saw coming, and he’d spent too long at Tech not to find intelligence attractive. He was barely drunk when he started sliding closer in stages, Marco unaware until he put his hand down on Jean’s thigh. He jerked away like it burned – well, from his face, it might’ve. Jean drained his cup and tossed it back in the bed, watching Marco watch him, Marco’s cup giving under his swollen knuckles. Jean glanced at it.

“You should finish that.” Marco blinked, looked down. He threw it back in one smooth motion and tossed the crumpled cup with Jean’s, turning his body towards Jean in the process. Jean ran a hand down his chest, Marco shivering under his touch. “You still okay with this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Marco breathed, eyes locked on Jean’s face. Marco didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he planted them at his sides, leaning in. Jean chuckled and hooked his other hand in Marco’s soft t-shirt.

“It’s okay, you know. You can touch me. I won’t mind.” Marco’s breath stuttered.

“I might not be drunk enough for that.”

“You’re cute.” Jean licked his bottom lip just to watch Marco zero in on it. Jean slipped his hand up around Marco’s neck and pulled him down for the kiss.

Marco melted against him, unsure hands folding around Jean’s waist and holding him tight. Jean pulled away – don’t want to overexpose him – but Marco chased his mouth, turning as much as he could into it, tooth catching on Jean’s bottom lip. Jean let out a laugh and swung himself into Marco’s lap, legs folded on either side, and this was _much_ better. Jean tilted his head to dovetail them together, tongue slipping in. Marco’s fingers splayed wide over his back, almost covering all of it. Jean dragged a hand back through Marco’s hair, tilting his head up for the deeper angle. His other hand roved Marco’s side, his arm, his back, as his tongue pressed against Marco’s, who was starting to figure it out.

They broke away when Jean shifted up too much for Marco to reach – but he latched on to the hollow under Jean’s ear instead. Jean’s turn for a shaky breath. “Catch on fast, do ya, honey?”

“Oh my God.” Marco mouthed down Jean’s neck to his collar. “Where’ve you been all my life?” Jean laughed, cheek to Marco’s forehead, snarling his fingers firmer in Marco’s hair.

“I’ve been around.” He pulled Marco’s head back to kiss him again, but Marco had other plans, hugging Jean and twisting around to plant him in the bed – “Shit, ow, fuck.” Jean winced and arched away from the metal grooves of the bed, littered with mulch and pine straw. Marco let him go and sat back, eyes wide again.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-” Jean cut him off with a laugh, sitting up on his elbows and smiling at Marco.

“It’s alright to be eager, hon. C’mere.” Jean slid up the bed some so his feet weren’t hanging off the edge and yanked Marco down by his shirt, breath whooshing out as Marco collapsed on him, God, he was heavy. Jean grabbed his hair and kissed him before he could apologize again. The grooves of the bed still cut into his back, and there was a piece of pine straw lancing into the space between his shirt and his jeans, but it was worth it for the way Marco’s hands shook as they slid down Jean’s side. He sighed.

The sun set late this time of the year. It was sitting low over the water when they finally finished off the whiskey, Jean folded over Marco’s lap and Marco’s face buried in his hair, propped up against the back of the cab. Marco ran his hand up and down Jean’s arm in a slow brush.

“I should probably head back soon,” Marco mumbled. Jean snorted.

“You’re drunk, sugarlump. And so’m I. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Marco hummed and hooked his other hand under Jean’s knees, hitching him up in his lap. Jean’s head swam with Jim Beam and Marco, and he shifted his face into Marco’s wet neck, hand resting on Marco’s bare stomach. “You smell good. Like… grapes, n’sunshine.”

“Thanks?” Marco’s chest rose and fell under Jean. “I’m kinda cold, though.”

Jean snorted, curling in on himself and Marco, before rolling away to fetch the shirt hanging off the tailgate by the sleeve. “Good aim,” he said to himself as he scooted back to Marco, who was adjusting his jeans back to normal. Jean handed over his shirt and helped him put it back on just so he could surprise him with a kiss as soon as his head popped through the collar. Marco hummed, shirt rucked up, and snatched at Jean, yanking him back in his lap. Jean rubbed his hands into Marco’s sides, big circles into warm skin, as he opened his mouth to Marco and let him explore.

They pulled away in spurts, little bites of leftovers. Jean grinned at Marco, tip of his tongue between his teeth. “Wanna make out until we’re sober again?”

Marco grinned back, too drunk to be embarrassed anymore. “You have to ask?”

They were getting lost in it when a vibrating phone rattled the truck bed. Jean looked back at the stack of theirs in the corner by the tailgate. Not his.

“ _Hijueputa!_ ” Marco dumped him on his ass as he scrambled down the bed and caught his phone just in time. “ _Allo?_ ”

Jean huffed at Marco’s back as he rattled Spanish into the phone, but slid over and traced his hands up the open strip of skin showing at Marco’s back. His breath hitched, and Jean’s eyes narrowed.

By the time he hung up, Jean’s hands were up his shirt up to the shoulder and his mouth was on his earlobe. Marco crossed his arms under his head and buried his face in them.

“I hate you.” Jean laughed and licked up his cartilage.

“That your boss?”

Marco shrugged. “Uncle. Both. He’d figured out I’d – I’d hooked up with someone, like, before he called, but he might’ve thought it was a girl. And I might’ve let him.” Jean chuckled against his ear and shifted to lie instead of sit.

“Kinky.”

Marco rolled his ear out of Jean’s mouth to look at him over his shoulder. “You’re not mad?”

“Shit, man, why would I be? You comin’ out to your family’s your shit, not mine.”

Marco blinked at him. “Atlanta must be a beautiful place.”

Jean laughed, forehead on the back of Marco’s neck, before slipping his hands out of Marco’s shirt and sitting up. Marco flipped over and followed, tethered to Jean’s body heat.

“Do you have to go home?” Marco shook his head.

“No, he gave me the morning off. Said I don’t get out enough.”

Jean grinned, tongue between his teeth.

* * *

Twelve hours later, a dusty red truck pulled up beside a yellow Mustang halfway across the empty Walmart parking lot. A guy with fluffy bleached hair tumbled out of the passenger side, grimacing and scratching his butt.

“I cannot _believe_ I got a mosquito bite on my _ass_.” He yanked at a beltloop, pulling his skinny jeans up as he came around the truck to the side with the Mustang and the driver. “I blame you.”

“That’s valid.” The driver shoved his hands into his pockets and leant back on his truck. The passenger groaned and made snatching claws in the air, spinning on his heel. The driver watched him with a vague smile.  

The passenger spun in and pressed a thumb to the pulse in the driver’s wrist. “You’ll call me, right?”

“Sure I will.”

“Good, ‘cause if you don’t, I’ll come down there and drink _all_ the wine.”

The driver laughed. “You come down enough and they’ll put you to work.”

“What, pickin’ grapes?”

The driver snorted. “No, you white people are too slow. You’d probably be in the front.”

The passenger’s mouth flopped open. “Ex- _cuse_ me?” The driver laughed, chin to his chest, and reached over with his free hand to cover the hand at his wrist.

“Bye, Jean. I’ll call you later.”

“Yeah?” Jean blinked, his indignation melting away into a crooked smile. “Cool.” They smiled at each other for a protracted second before Jean pulled his hand away and unlocked the Mustang with the clicker. “See ya, Marco.” He slapped Marco’s ass with a wink before he danced away to his car, laughing as Marco tried to catch him before escaping to his car and sticking his tongue out the window as he drove away.                                                                                              


End file.
